The Other Side     Disclaimer: This story is written for the private
entertainment of fans. The author makes no claims on the characters or
their portrayal by the creation of this story. Fraser, Vecchio and
Kowalski belong to Alliance. No infringement of any copyrights held by
CBS, Alliance, CTV or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is
intended. This story is not published for profit, and the author does not
give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.
 
 Rated PG m/m m/f and a few swear words Kowalski/Vecchio
 
 Comments welcome at mullum@tig.com.au
 
 The Other Side
 
 by Carol Trendall
 
 Turn me on take me for a hard ride
 Burn me out leave me on the other side - Red Hot Chili Peppers
 
 
 
 Maria Cicciari groaned, dug her nails into her lover's back and spread
her legs further, not caring that on a winter Wednesday afternoon she was
having sex under her father's roof, out of wedlock and probably in earshot
of the great man himself. For an Italian man, a Mafia Don, Ignazio
Cicciari was suprisingly liberal-minded. But Maria, like everyone, knew
there was more to it than that. She knew it was in her father's interest
for her relationship with Armando Langostini to be successful and she
never fooled herself otherwise. It was Maria's brother, Marco, who seemed
less than happy with the match. 
 
 
 Armando Langostini grunted as he pounded into the willing flesh of the
woman underneath him. He wasn't in love with Maria Cicciari and he knew
she knew it, but it never stopped either of them. When they did this it
was not about everlasting love, it was about something more primal,
something they both needed. It helped that they shared respect as well as
desire for each other so that they were able to maintain the facade that
kept two Mafia families at peace while gaining a little pleasure for
themselves.
 
 It didn't take long before Armando's orgasm overtook him and he came long
and hard, shouting out his pleasure, for a moment oblivious to Maria's
rapturous cries. It was only when she poked his shoulder with a scarlet
fingernail, nudging him off her, that he roused. Smiling happily, he
slipped onto his back and cradled her against his chest.
 
 "Mmm," he hummed, nuzzling at Maria's hair.
 
 "My god, Armando, that was incredible. I've never seen you like that
before."
 
 He grinned and sneaked a playful sidelong glance at her. "I guess you
just turned me on."
 
 Maria leaned up on one elbow and contemplated the face of the man who had
just so royally fucked her into the greatest state of bliss she had felt
in a long time. She knew he lied. 
 
 "You're so full of it," she teased him good-naturedly. "You and I both
know that what just happened had nothing to do with me." Leaning down, she
kissed his soft lips tenderly. "But that's OK." It was always OK.
 
 "Ah, Maria, you know me too well." Armando smiled, his heart suddenly
filled with tenderness for this woman who was little more than a pawn in
her father's dangerous games. He pulled her down and kissed her again,
knowing that although she knew him well, she did not know everything about
him. She could never know everything about him for it would be fatal - for
both of them. 
 
 Maria could never know that his real name was Raymondo Vecchio and she
could never know that the lust singing in his veins was not because of
her, but because of her brother Marco Cicciari. It was always because of
Marco.
 
 
 
 Stella Kowalski shuddered under the warm lips that skimmed down her
throat and along her collarbone. She missed this, she longed for this –
she longed for him. But she wished she didn't. She wished she could leave
and never want for him again. She wished she could rid herself of the hold
he had on her, rid herself of the desire that she turned into anger to
protect herself.
 
 Ray Kowalski slipped his hands to the small of his beautiful ex-wife's
back as he nibbled her collarbone. It had been so long and this was like a
dream come true. He wished they could do this forever, wished that she
would stay forever. He missed this – he missed her.
 
 Stella sighed and shifted her hands to Ray's heaving chest, preparing to
do what she knew she must – what she didn't want to. But she had to. She
could not give into her desire; she could not let him back in. She took a
deep breath and pushed.
 
 "What....?" Ray cried as he found himself hurtling across the room.
 
 "I....I can't, Ray.....we have to stop." She smoothed her skirt, keeping
her eyes averted.
 
 Ray adjusted himself in his trousers and glared at her, stepping closer.
"What?" 
 
 "We're divorced, Ray," Stella said matter-of-factly as she turned and
reached for her purse.
 
 Ray hesitated for a second, momentarily thrown by her tone before
exploding in anger. 
 
 "Oh yeah," he cried, turning away and throwing his hands in the air.
"Like that explains everything." He strode across the room and slammed his
hand down on the kitchen counter. "Like it explains how five minutes ago
you had your hand down my pants and now you're lookin' at me like you
caught me porking your prize poodle, Pookie." 
 
 When he turned to look at her again he caught her open-mouthed stare
before a mask of indifference snapped into place.
 
 Stella regarded her ex-husband with a cool, discriminating eye. "You
always did have a way with words, Ray," she spat at him, all trace of her
previous warmth gone. "That's exactly why we're divorced and that's
exactly why I'm leaving now."
 
 "Ah, come on, Stella...." His words stopped as she pushed past him and
opened the front door.
 
 Pausing in the doorway she turned to him, a cold look hardening her face.
"Sometimes I wonder what I ever saw in you." And before the words could
register with Ray, she slammed the door behind her.
 
 
 Ray Vecchio dressed slowly in the late afternoon sun, smiling at the
woman with whom he had just passed several pleasant hours. She was a
beauty, he knew, but not the one to capture his heart. Maybe there never
would be anyone. For a moment his thoughts turned inward, pondering the
lie his life had become. Sadly, he realised, his life had been a lie long
before he became Armando Langostini. 
 
 "A dollar for your thoughts," Maria said, leaning up one her elbow, the
sheet barely covering her shapely body.
 
 Ray zipped his pants and reached for his shoes. "A dollar?" He cast a
cheeky glance her way. "What makes you think they're worth a dollar?"
 
 She laughed, deep and sexy. "You undervalue yourself, Armando..."
Swinging legs over the side of the bed she strode naked towards him. "I
happen to know you are a man of great...value." She smiled seductively as
she lifted a hand to cup his genitals, now encased in expensive layers of
Calvin Klein cotton and Armani wool.
 
 Ray chuckled and kissed her cheek tenderly. "You flatter me, Maria." He
stepped away, smiling with true warmth. "But I am also a man in danger of
being late for a meeting your father set up." He headed to the door, no
longer a lover, now a smooth Mafia businessman. "I have to go, Marco will
be waiting...." His voice trailed off as he realised his haste to get
downstairs and meet his lover's brother.
 
 If Maria noticed, she said nothing. Grinning lewdly, she lifted a hand to
leisurely cup her breast and then stroke a nipple to hardness. "Perhaps
you can come back later......?"
 
 Ray did not reply. He smiled his best Armando smile, opened the door and
stepped into the corridor, suddenly very anxious to be on his way.
 
 
 Stanley Raymond Kowalski stared at the door that still reverberated from
where Stella had slammed it behind her only a second or two earlier.
Huffing out a sound that was a mixture of anger and disappointment, he
shook his head and turned back towards the living room where less than a
minute earlier, he had kissed Stella and held hopes of making love to her.
 
 "Why the fuck does she always do this?" he asked the empty room that
still smelled faintly of her perfume.
 
 Ray flopped listlessly onto the sofa, reached absently for the remote
control, flicked through a few channels then tossed it aside, irritated.
His mind was full of his ex-wife. The last few times he had seen her were
almost exactly like this, he realised, with a degree of anger. Stella
would drop by, just to say hi, she always said. They would share a beer,
maybe get a bite to eat. She would let him get closer, let him hold her
hand, let him kiss her. After some slow and careful moves, they would end
up making out on the couch – sometimes clothes would be shed. But always,
just when things got interesting, she would up and leave. It frustrated
him. He wondered if she took some perverse pleasure in arousing him and
leaving him high and dry. 
 
 The frustration was about more than sex, he admitted. It was about
control. With Stella, Ray felt he almost begged for every little sign of
affection, every nice gesture or kind word she sent his way. He almost
felt like he was begging every time he saw her. Not just begging for
physical contact, but begging for approval, acceptance – and maybe for the
sex, too. He kicked at the coffee table, the anger in his belly beginning
to grow. 
 
 "This is no way to live," he growled into the silence. "I gotta do
something."
 
 Ray knew he needed to get some control back in his life. He needed to
feel like he still had some power. He needed to feel like a man.
 
 
 It was nearly midnight by the time the meeting of Mafia bosses ended. Ray
and Marco were silent as they sat in the back of the black limousine
taking them back to the Cicciari residence, both enjoying the satisfaction
of a job well done. Ray kept his eyes trained on the lights of the city as
they passed and tried not to feel the heat from the man sitting next to
him. 
 
 Marco had watched him all night, his dark, flashing eyes raking over
Ray's body every time they were close. Ray kept his eyes averted, but he
was only too aware of the heat in the other man's gaze. He called upon
long unused skills to stop himself from responding.
 
 Some people in the Family knew that Marco was gay, even if the great
Ignazio Cicciari didn't. The FBI briefing notes Ray received had mentioned
nothing of any attraction Marco Cicciari may have felt for Armando
Langostini, but to his trained detective's eye it was obvious. And that
made it doubly frustrating. Under other circumstances he would have
welcomed Marco's unnerving attention, but in his role as a Family member,
as Armando Langostini, it could not be.
 
 Armando Langostini had been a womaniser and a lover of great repute and
the sheer number of Mafia women who had come to him to rekindle past
intimacies were testimony to it. There would be no accepting of the offer
that Armando knew was in Marco's dark eyes. No matter how much Ray Vecchio
wanted it.
 
 Thankfully Ray was skilled at obfuscation. And it wasn't only from years
of working as a Detective First Grade. Ray learned these skills a much
harder way. After years of constant companionship with Benton Fraser, Ray
was a master of deceit. He had successfully hidden his attraction for the
Mountie for a long, long time. It took years, but eventually he reached a
point where he could spend time in close proximity with Fraser and not
have to hide a raging erection or racing heart.
 
 Now it was Marco who made his heart leap and his blood pound with desire.
Ray chuckled. Maybe he would accept Maria's offer to come back after the
meeting. He could do worse.
 
 
 The pizza was tasteless, the beer was warm and everything on television
was crap. At least that's how it appeared to Ray Kowalski as he flopped
from one restless position to another on his suddenly uncomfortable sofa.
And he was still angry with Stella.
 
 "What is it with women?" he asked out loud, flicking the television off
and tossing the remote onto the coffee table. He rose to his feet and
shuffled into the kitchen for another beer, angrily twisting off the top
and throwing it into the sink. 
 
 "Fucking ballbreakers," he cursed, then threw back his head and drank
down half the contents of the bottle.
 
 Something urgent and primal stirred deep in Ray's being. He swallowed the
rest of the beer, tossed the bottle into the trash and strode purposefully
towards his bedroom. A predatory smiled curled at his lips. There was only
one thing to do. 
 
 When he emerged ten minutes later, dressed in tight denim, he was a man
in control, a man with a mission. He knew what he needed and exactly where
to get it. The other side.
 
 
 Armando lingered in the hall outside Maria's room. Half of him wanted to
knock, to go inside and to be welcomed into her arms. But the other half
knew that this member of the Cicciari household would never be able to
give him what he wanted. What he wanted – needed – could not be found on
the other side of the heavy wooden door he now contemplated. What Ray
Vecchio needed could only be had on the other side of town and only in one
sort of place, the likes of which, he was sure, would be well known to
Marco Cicciari.
 
 Something primal and urgent stirred in Ray, lighting a fire in his belly
and causing him to dash towards his own room. It would be a risk, but it
was one he was prepared to take. The brooding gaze of Marco earlier that
night had awakened a hunger in him that he had not felt since he first met
Benton Fraser. This time it was a hunger he would not, could not ignore.
He knew exactly what he would do.
 
 When he emerged from his room ten minutes later, clad in black from head
to toe, he was a man set to satisfy his hunger. He was a man with a
mission. But he had to make sure he went someplace there was no danger of
being recognised. Somewhere his choices could not be used against him,
somewhere on the other side of town.
 
 
 
 The rhythmic throb of dance music filled Ray Kowalski's chest as he
weaved between groups of men on his way to the bar. He would dance later,
whether or not someone asked him. He liked to dance. But first he needed a
drink. Sliding onto a barstool he ordered a double Jack, neat, from the
leather-vested muscle man behind the bar and then cast his eyes quickly
around the room. He knew some of the faces. He knew some by name. One or
two of them he knew even better. Not that he came here often. But often
enough, lately, at least.
 
 Picking up his drink, Kowalski slipped off the barstool and wandered
around the room looking for a suitable position. He scanned the place
slowly, from the men huddled in twos and threes in the darkest corners to
the men swaying and gyrating under the bright lights on the dance floor.
His gaze lingered for a few seconds over several of them, but none kept
his interest for very long. He sipped his drink. He was in no hurry.
Finally, he took up residence leaning against a pole, positioned so he
could see the dance floor, the bar and the entrance in one small turn of
his head. He smiled into his bourbon and waited.
 
 
 
 Ray Vecchio collected his single malt whiskey on the rocks from the
leather queen behind the bar and headed towards a booth just vacated by
two men who were clearly leaving to pursue pleasure elsewhere. Once
seated, he ran a quick eye over the men in the room. On the dance floor
several couples swayed against each other, imitating the act they would
later perform in private. At the bar, small groups of men chatted and
smiled at each other and in the shadows other men got to know each other
better. At first glance, there appeared to be no one to catch his
interest. But he was in no hurry.
 
 Ray lifted his glass to take a sip as he looked around the room again,
this time far more slowly. He stopped, glass in mid air, when he saw the
man he wanted, wondering why he hadn't noticed him first time around.
Tall, slender, blonde tousled hair and an arrogant 'come fuck me' stance
that set his heart pounding. The tight white t-shirt and worn jeans that
clung to strong legs like a second skin sent a bolt of lust to Ray's
groin. Yes, this was the one. He lowered his glass to the scarred surface
of the table and waited. It didn't take long before the blonde turned his
gaze in Ray's direction. It took even less time for him to push away from
the pole and swagger across the room to where Ray sat.
 
 
 Kowalski felt eyes on him, but he wasn't concerned. That's why he had
come to this place. It was always why he came. Slowly he turned and met
the stare he knew would be there, ready for the offer he knew he would
find. He wasn't prepared for the intensity he saw in this man's flashing
eyes and for a moment he froze. Staring back, he inspected the face of the
man who held his gaze. Slender, dressed tastefully in a black turtleneck
sweater and pants. He had a nose that seemed a little too large and hair
close-cropped to disguise the fact that it was thinning. Not classically
handsome, but something about his moody eyes drew him in. He was crossing
the room before he knew it.
 
 
 Ray Vecchio smiled as the attractive blonde man flowed onto the seat
opposite him.
 
 "Top or bottom?" Kowalski asked, in a voice that matched his sultry
looks.
 
 "Cut to the chase, huh?" Ray said, an amused smile touching his lips.
 
 "Yeah, well, I don't see any point in wasting time, you know."
 
 Ray leaned forward and sipped his scotch, still smiling at the
fair-haired man opposite him. "Understood," he whispered, thinking
suddenly of Benton Fraser. He shook the thought aside, the Mountie had no
place in this - arrangement. 
 
 He lowered his voice even further. "I'm looking for a good top."
 
 Kowalski leaned forward and spoke in a low, sexy voice, a dangerous smile
curling his lips. "Well, it looks like tonight is your lucky night."
 
 As Ray stared into the dark eyes that reminded him so much of the ones
that had driven him to this place, he knew he would give this man whatever
he wanted. 
 
 Comments welcome at mullum@tig.com.au